On Saturday I made a big mistake.
I have bought a new tent (the last two were inflatable and got too puffed up and burst. Don’t worry – I got all my money back.) So I got a more conventional tent – with poles and ropes. ‘Can be erected (that word!) by one person’ it said on the otherwise indecipherable instructions.
Off I go to the Vicar’s lawn – now the official tent launching pad and we twist and turn (the tent) until we can work out van side from rear entrance and set to work. Now the Vicar is a skilled and experienced tent erector but the odd ‘oh dear’ (or words to that effect) may have slipped out. Together we did get this thing to work – two long poles and one short one that goes over the top.
Great – seemed easy enough.
Getting it back into the bag required both of us to lie on the rolled up remains (causing some net curtains to twitch) but it was secured and I hauled it into my van.
An enterprise of this sort requires refreshment and I had to walk home from the Rectory.
The weekend was absolutely glorious and when I arrived on Friday I had completely run out of energy so just sat in the evening sun. As luck would have it, my friend Pam texted me and asked if she could come for coffee the next day. ‘Ah ha!’ I thought, ‘I’ll bribe her with the promise of an ice cream in return for a bit of a hand with the tent’. (The campsite is, conveniently, on a site where they sell gorgeous ice creams)
Saturday morning I walked to the beach (only 1k) and got wet in the sea (I had forgotten just how long the North Sea keeps its icy coldness. Should be just about OK next month). Pam arrived and I explained my predicament.
What I haven’t told you is that Pam is a user.
Pam has a couple of nasty chest conditions and needs to use her portable oxygen if she exerts herself. We were both out of breath and the tent was still a crumpled heap. Next to my van were three beautiful VW campervans and some couples who were having a great time. They had all gone off to the beach and the women returned with the dogs just as Pam and I were sitting in the nylon folds.
I cannot believe what I said next…
‘When the men get back can we ask them to help us?’
Here I am, a second wave feminist, independent and capable – and asking when the MEN would be back!
The women said ‘we don’t need the men – we can help’ and they did. Within minutes the tent was up and Pam and I had a coffee. What we needed was people power, not man power ! and then Pam read the instructions – ‘it is much easier to get the tent up if you have more people to help’ – you don’t say !!
Pam and I had an ice cream – yes I paid, she collected her cylinder and we set off for the beach.
Pam’s husband died very recently and we talked about that. We talked about being ready for death and what that means. Pam had been to a study day at the hospice recently and they had given some great advice.
And we talked it through.
Funny how talking and walking works so well. As you know, I’ve got my LPAs in place and we talked about the peace of mind that those decisions bring. We talked too about loss and grief and the expectations of some people that somehow you will ‘be over the worst of it’ in a few weeks and that ‘time will heal’. Until it seems rude to say that actually you are still very sad and sometimes its really hard to go on at all. And Pam told me lots about her marriage and how life feels without her man. We got to the water and paddled and somehow the pain eased a tiny bit for a short while.
We made it back to the van and once she had got her breath back Pam went home for a rest. We do need men, we need special men and the support and strength they bring – but to get a tent up?
Four strong women will do nicely.
Written by Marion, hosted by Carrie
The vicar & Pam have consented to this publication